Emptiness and epiphanies

As I was walking into my building premises at 1:45 am, I found a dog lying on its side, in an odd position. The parking light wasn't bright enough for me to see the details, but I immediately sensed that it had suffered some form of brain trauma and died. Since noone would respond at the time of the night, I made a mental note to call the municipal corporation's dead animal pickup service, and walked by. As I entered the house and locked up, I was struck by how matter-of-factly I took it. Where were my emotions? How did I not feel anything at the sight of a sentient dead animal, especially a dog, when my own four-legged boy had passed away in a very similar manner just 4 months ago?

I went through the motions of changing, doing my routine journaling, brushing, etc, and slept well enough. Went cycling early in the morning, and when it was closer to the time at which the municipal corporation starts answering calls, I dialed the number. Surprisingly, a well-mannered person responded in an efficient manner--asking for my name, number, and location, and letting me know that they will arrive sometime in the day--they could't predict the exact time, but they would call me an hour before they could reach the spot. By then, it looked like noone from the neighborhood had realized that a dead dog was lying in the compound. I made a hand-written note about having called the pickup service, mentioned their contact number for follow-up, and stuck it on the ground next to the body, just in case someone was curious enough to inquire.

Even though I had no tasks to do before bathing and leaving for work, I felt inclined to lie down and rest for a while. I went out to the balcony intermittently, so I could see whether anyone else had taken note of the event. About an hour later, I finally saw a woman kneeling next to the dog, so I went out to talk to her. She--let's call her PD--was crying profusely, because, it turns out, she had been looking after the dog since she was a puppy. PD told me they called her Kaali--easy to remember because of her coloring. Kaali was a sweet, gentle dog. I took down PD's number and asked her whether I could help in a any way besides making sure that Kaali was picked up. PD wanted to bury her in an empty plot at the back of the colony, instead. So I offered to load Kaali up in the car, and deliver her to the spot.

PD went away to get the tools needed for the burial and another animal-friendly person from the colony came by to assist a few minutes later. In the few minutes that I stood alone outside the car, looking at Kaali lying on the seat, I welled up. Not with emotion--okay, maybe a little,--but mostly with a sense of purpose. It felt right. Like, this is what I am supposed to do. The instinct to stay back home and to not rush to work even though I had a bunch of tasks awaiting me, served this purpose. I was meant to do this little bit of service. I would have even stayed back and helped them with the burial if it was a holiday. But even that little bit that I could do, of making sure that Kaali was moved away with a modicum of dignity, gave my life a meaning.

If the pickup service had not come through by evening, I had planned to take the dog to the cremation facility myself. That was an obvious action that I would take, to see this to completion. But the little help I could offer to the lady and the dog made me feel like--I was, for that slice of time at least--a piece of the puzzle that fit perfectly where it should. Like, feeling a strong emotion may not really be my thing, but acting on something where it makes a difference, or being effective in some way is what I am here for. And that gave me closure.

What a morbid, weirdly satisfying way to start my 40th year on this planet.

Three months ago

...this day, our remaining baby moved on.

This was an hour before he left...

We had force-fed him a little bit of the mush that we used to call food. I wanted with all my heart to let him be, not to torture him, and to let his body heal itself. I wasn't strong enough to act on my instincts. This will serve as a reminder--yet another one--to do what I know in my gut to be right for me and my loved ones.

The void and the paranoid

Phoebe's the former since she left a Phoebe-shaped hole in our lives when she 'left' about a month ago. I'm the latter, because I'm always on edge and always on the lookout for things that might hurt our remaining pooch, Mojo.

The anti inflammatory medication that we are giving him has played havoc with his system. He seems to have lost all the strength that he had gained over the past few months. I'm only hoping and praying that the one thing that has been consistently well with him all this while--his appetite and digestion--continues to stay that way.

We can handle issues that are visible and tangible, but we're losing patience with the 'unknowns'; we've been dealing with way too many of them. We have, of course, expressed our concern to the vet, and have tapered the dose sooner with his agreement. I'm anxious to know whether it slows down the downward spiral he seems ​to be going into. Today evening--a day since we halved the frequency--it seemed like his continence was slightly better, and he was taking some weight on his left hind leg, which seemed weaker yesterday. When I asked about it, the vet said that the positive effects of the medication may take a couple months to become apparent. I hope the positive effects of stopping it are visible sooner.

It would've been a joyful anniversary

... if not for the fact that a quarter of our little family isn't here with us any more. This day, eight years ago, we brought Phoebe and Mojo home. It was a childhood dream for both of us, and we decided to fulfill it as adults, because now no one would be able to give us false choices like 'either you or the dog stays here'.

I remember we went to bed after settling the pups in theirs, and in just a few minutes my little baby began whimpering, looking for her mommy and her littermate to snuggle with. We had decided to be strict with them and not get them into the habit of sleeping in our beds. All that resolve melted in less than half an hour. I couldn't bear to 'let her be' while she called out for some warmth and safety. I was, after all, her mommy now.

Phoebe moved on from our lives almost three weeks ago, and I'm​ trying to come to terms with the void she left behind. It's difficult to be sad for too long, though, when we think of her, because we remember her antics and can't help but laugh out loud at some memory or the other.

Now we focus all our energies on treating Mojo as well as we can, in her memory. She did give us some relief from all the stress of taking care of the both of them. We better make good use of it.

Goodbye, my angel. And thank you for filling our lives with joy. :*

Easter puppies

This one was written when our first set of grandpuppies was born in April this year. I just couldn't gather the enthusiasm to put this up so far. Anyhoo...

Easter Sunday brought the best gifts I have ever received. I had called Phoebe into our bed in the early hours of the morning. She was panting heavily and I thought being with us would soothe her. I knew she would deliver soon, and was lazing in bed thinking of taking her for a round of pee so that she would be free to give birth. We woke to a wet spot on the bed, realizing that the first pup was on its way. By the time we could gather our wits, the boy was out and Phoebe had freed him of the cord. I barked instructions at the hubs to gather the supplies I should have kept ready in the first place. The mat and a bedsheet were placed on our bed just in time for the second one's arrival. It was a girl followed by another one. I called my animal-loving-soul-sister Apu to let her know that the most awaited event of this month was happening in my bed :P

Before the next one came, we moved Phoebe and the first-borns to her whelping area.
The fourth pup was a boy after which there was a gap in which Phoebe could rest a bit. Then came two girls in quick succession. Sadly, the sixth one was a stillborn. Phoebe licked it a lot trying to revive it, but it was clear that the pup probably never matured enough to be born alive. It was ghostly pale, as opposed to the others who were a very healthy shade of pink. We left the girl on a piece of paper on a table nearby. It took a while for the seventh one, a girl, to arrive, and Phoebe gladly had some water in the meantime. I had a hunch that the litter wasn't complete yet, so we stayed put in the whelping area. Soon enough, the last one arrived, another girl.

While the litter was making its way into this world, I kept helping Phoebe every chance I could... tearing off a couple of pups' protective sacs and helping them breathe. It just felt so... right. My girl did her job beautifully--tore off the sacs, cut the cord at just the right length, licked the pups clean and kept an eye out for intruders. Her instincts continue to amaze us. Mojo was pretty confused and kept popping in to quench his curiosity, but always remained at a cautious distance. The darling never troubled Phoebe in any manner. Maybe he dared not ;-)

When sufficient time had elapsed, I took Phoebe out for a walk, which was more like a mad dash to the road and back. She kept barking loudly at me, as if to tell me that we have to hurry. Maybe that's how they protect their young ones... by creating enough ruckus to ward off predators. She peed and pooped right in the middle of the street--quite unlike her--and ran back up the stairs at lightening speed.

I could have sat there all the time, but Apu called to say she was coming right over from Mumbai before she could even get home. Thanks to her, I gathered my wits, cleaned up a bit (thanks a bunch to the hubs for being so quick when it mattered, muuuuahh!) and even managed to have a bath in time. Apu and her husband could adore the pups only after Phoebe stopped barking in their face and settled down realizing that they meant no harm. Mojo had his fill of jumping around and running batshit crazy when they entered the door. This was the only time he got any attention that day. Except for the occasional appreciative nod and touch when hubs and I cooed over how non-nuisancy he was today.

I took Phoebe for a couple more poop-n-pee sprints, and then she had a few morsels of food at night, right beside the pups. Not being in that room was unbearable for her. Because the work week would begin the next day, I did not let hubs sleep in Phoebe's room. And rightly so. The little critters kept me up all night with their squealing. Although I did enjoy that too.

Setting off the sabbatical

I wrote this post in April when I quit my job, but I haven't had the inclination to upload it yet. So here goes...

The perfect beginning that didn't last

I doubt that many will understand this, but I was thrilled to wake up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning! It was just way I wanted my sabbatical to begin. I was so excited to be up at the time that the temptation to snuggle in did not even form completely in my mind. I thought of getting dressed and going for a walk, but my feet were hurting like they do on most mornings since several months now. So, I sauntered into the other bedroom and did some stretches in my night dress with the ceiling fan on full blast. I don't like getting sweaty right after I'm out of bed, but that's the big downside of exercise. Just one of my excuses for not getting into a healthy morning routine.

I was tempted to doze off again after the stretching and so I lay down on the floor, relaxing. Instantaneously, my dogs woke up and came barging from the bedroom sniffing and jumping over me. I took the cue, changed, and took them for a walk. We left the neighborhood and walk alongside the main rood today, and they were unexpectedly well-behaved. They didn't pull constantly, and I could control them with my voice and a few tugs at their leashes. We even saw a pack of puppies on the way, and one of them walked up to us ready to play but then chickened out suddenly. It was nice to see 'em all and their mum looking over her shoulder protectively. After we got home, though, we went to wake up dada, but snuggled in instead, like we always do, falling prey to his powers of sedation.

At this point, I succumbed to weariness and stopped writing. Didn't catch on for more than a week after. Through the first week at home, several things kept me busy, including lazing around and watching TV.

Come Sunday, the enthusiasm of waking up early and attempting to start and continue an exercise regime went right outta the window. I spent the morning gathering our apartment-related documents so that I could hand them over to the next office bearer. We had an annual general meeting planned for the evening. It went surprisingly well, and lasted only a little over two hours. I was the Secretary of the apartment association, but happily gave up the position in the hope that other members would take up the responsibility. The guy who was President gave up his position too, which surprised people. At least they said so.

Throughout the working week, hubs ran off to work as early as he could and came back as late as he could. Bugger's been taking advantage of me being at home to work longer hours. Not that I mind. I think he can use this opportunity to do some good work and get noticed. He's had to put in a fixed number of hours over the past two years so that I could work flexi-time and longer hours, and make multiple trips to the office if required. It worked for us, because my commute was almost half of his and I had to maneuver through only half the traffic. Also, the car was always at my disposal and I have been taking undue advantage of it. Sigh!

On Tuesday, I took Phoebe to the vet for an ultrasound, and we came to know that she had at least 6 pups in there. I've been waiting for their arrival all through the week. The same evening, hubs and I went to see a new pooch in the neighborhood. A girl who used to have a Dalmatian but gave him away because she couldn't manage to take care of him, has now brought home a month-old Rottweiler. Apparently her husband got cured of his dog aversion and wanted one that belonged to a big strong breed. It was a fun half an hour, where we let Bullet (yep, that's his name, but just "Bull" would suffice if you ask me... he's strong!) scamper around between our feet and over our heads, lick our faces, and chew our fingers and ears.

During the rest of the week, I did some cleaning up around the house, organized some documents, went grocery shopping, cleared the spare bedroom and created a whelping area for Phoebe. Took the dogs out on several short sprints, off the leash. I was too lazy to walk them around the usual track, and besides, they enjoy the freedom.

Good Friday morning was spent at me mum-n-dad's, where I clubbed a few things in one trip: I had to carry some warm clothes and tiffins for mom to carry during her upcoming old-ladies-gang trip to Kashmir. She had prepared my favorite food item. My dear friend Meg was in town for the weekend and we wanted to catch up. I had to drop mom off to granny's on our way back. Pawan was ok to be dragged around town and dumped at mama's place while I met Meg ;-)

Saturday was spent at home, zombie-watching TV. Except when I went to the bank and tried to check email. My internet connection played hooky through the week. Phoebe had began panting in the afternoon and continued through the night.

The obvious consequence of the uh-oh moment

... was confirmed today.

It's been 35 days and it seemed like the perfect time to take Phoebe for an ultrasound. We were hoping that there'd be fewer cuddly balls of spotted fun to grandparent this time, but that isn't to be. We saw 6 of 'em floating around in my girl's tummy. Hoping there are no more.

The hubs all but panicked, while I was secretly thrilled that I would be able to hold a few more of those delightful young'uns so soon. This time, though, I'll manage things better. Cherish my moments with 'em instead of turning into a shrieking banshee like I did a few months ago.

When I broke the news to the good lady who runs the pet products shop that we frequent, she couldn't wrap her head around the idea! It tickled her funny and we were both giggling at the prospect like tweens :)

In related news, a family solicited Mojo's puppy-making skills for their 2.5-year-old Dal named Lucky. She was a pampered brat, but I didn't mind Mojo passing on some of his baby-paste (Thank you, writers of 18 to Life!) to her because she was so fine-looking. She had perfectly spotted ears! Their progeny would be quite sought after. And, we get to keep one of our choice!

So all 1.7 of you people who happen to pass by this space every few days, pull up your sleeves, get the megaphones out and get prepared to yell at every passerby and demand that they take away my puppies by the end of January 2012. Go on, be good now.

The uh-oh moment

... happened today.

People who are squeamish about animals or sex or a combination of both should stop reading at this point. You have been warned.

Phoebe (and thereby) Mojo have been in heat since the past two weeks. Prior to this, we used to put one of them in the crate on a rotating schedule so as to avoid accidents. Actually, that's quite unnecessary, because Phoebe is quite invincible... if I ever have a daughter, I want her to be strong and capable of defending herself like my bitch here ;-) In fact, we had to (you know, er...) help them conceive just a few months back.

These past couple of weeks, however, we have managed to keep them apart by just yelling at Mojo and threatening him. Also, it helped that Phoebe bared her teeth at him and also bit him at times. Yeah, we're twisted like that... we find that better compared to having to put them in the crate and get them out every hour or so.

Anyhoo. We're grateful that they sleep through the night without us having to sleep with them in separate rooms like we did before. This morning, as has been the routine for the past 3-4 days, we woke up to the cacophony that ensues when Mojo tries to screw Phoebe. (Squeamish folks, I told you so!) By the time I could go grab Mojo and push him out of the room or onto his bean bag, he'd mounted (I can't believe I'm using that word... the last time I used it, it was as a Linux / UNIX command) Phoebe. We thought of pulling him off but couldn't risk separating him from his (er...) little Mojo. Talk about making split-second decisions!

So it happened that for the next 20 minutes or so, we sat in bed contemplating the consequences of the recent events, while they gradually moved all over the room stuck at the base. Literally. Thankfully, after the first few seconds, there aren't any pelvic thrusts involved in this graphic sequence. (Any prudes reading so far? You've shown exceptional courage. Now go away.) At some point, Phoebe got tired of standing and decided that she wanted to sit in the bean bag. So she did. Mojo realized that he had no option but to accommodate her if he wanted to continue having his way with her. He was done a few minutes later, and I hurried to wash the bean bag clean. Talk about parenting.

The rest of the morning passed by peacefully, with Mojo banished to the crate, and without us bringing up the topic that we ruminated over individually. After the hubs went to work, I called up the vet, gave him the details of the events that transpired, and asked whether there was a chance that Phoebe would conceive. He said that it's rare that it happens this late in the heat cycle, but it's possible. The only way to know would be to check the Progesterone levels in her blood. That would give us a 90% accurate reading. He asked whether we wanted them to have puppies or not. I said no. (I actually meant "Oh God, no!") He said that there were contraceptive pills available but they didn't really work. He'd seen a few cases where the dogs still conceived. He suggested that we either operate her now to remove her ovaries or go in for an abortion a month later. The former is not an option now (the hubs wasn't keen on it when I asked soon after the puppies were born) and the latter is never an option. It saddens me to even write about it.

So now, we begin the anxious 4-to-6-week long wait to know whether we're gonna be grandparents again before the year is out. We're not keen on it, but if it does happen, we'll make arrangements for the pups to be cared for and taken away sooner. Wish us luck, folks, and pray that we don't need it!

PS: I've written things in this post that I never thought would escape my (er...) fingers.

PPS: Whatever happens, we still love our Mojo and Phoebe to death. They're the best. And they make the cutest couple. Folks at the pet resort attest to that in writing :P

Destructive entertainment: a good training technique

Our grandpups have been dirtying the living room every night, so that I have to mop it thrice every morning--once to scoop the pee and poop off, again with water to get the sticky paw marks off, and yet again with Savlon to kill the odor and germs off. They've been doing their business in the balcony/terrace area during the day, except when they are engrossed in playing and don't have the patience to go all the way outside.

Until recently, I didn't keep the door to the balcony open during the night for fear that the mosquito militia might take over. The last couple of months, however, have taken a toll on my patience. Two days back, I took the risk, and the results have been dramatic. The first night, they dirtied the place 50% lesser. The second night, that figure went down to 90%!!

So this morning, I gladly began sweeping the floor, because it wasn't quite possible due to the sticky floor until now. I found a lot of thin sticks, and wondered what they were, because we didn't really have any stick-ey object lying around. (Before we retire every night, we diligently hide everything that the critters can destroy. They've targeted and succeeded with the TV remote's rubber hand grip, the remote itself, a few wires, cloth, bottles... pretty much anything that is unable to protect itself.)


I found this lying on the rug that I put down for the puppies to snuggle in if they need it.


And then it all came back to me. I remember looking at this small table mat lying on the center table last night, and thinking, oh what the hell... they might not even look at it. What I didn't think was... this is the only useful object in the room... do you think they're gonna stick to their toys? Which kid ever did that?



But then I figured, this was a small price to pay for a clean room. (Only one pee! And that too, not splashed or spread around with their paws!)

So here we go. Another lesson learned. Leave one object in the room for them to focus their energy on.

Some thoroughly enjoyable destruction inside
Keeps the pee and poop outside

The first few pictures

... are here!

There's this coconut tree on the rear side of my apartment, and this colorful branch caught my eye when I was ambling in the balcony making sure that my pets drank water.

So I zoomed in and immediately made a desktop wallpaper out of it :D

A spring blossom I picked up on the way while walking my dogs. I placed it on my red leather wallet for a contrast-ish effect.

My Phoebe! How could I not capture the apple of my eye? The queen of our home? My only love at first sight, ever? (Take that, hubby! The only thing I felt when I laid my eyes on you for the first time was... wow... that's so much light entering the room! You were practically reflecting light with every square inch of your visible skin!)

That's Mojo in his playful pose, who mistook the camera for a toy and was ready to jump at me and wrestle it away.

Whoever's looking for

... armpit hair picture of nude girl, did you find what were looking for on my blog? If you did, could you point me to that location? Must be some corner or my mind where I keep thinking about the Redneck Mommy. She's the one who teases people about posting such pictures. Not me. Although I could post such pictures if you ask me nicely. I've got a girl at home who runs around naked all day and has hair all over. Not just in her armpits. And she'll lick you all over even if you don't ask her nicely. I promise.

My dog's going alpha

... and I'm not happy.

When my pooches were pups, they would happily wag their tails and approach all other dogs playfully. Mojo was always a bit skeptical but would want to jump on other dogs to test their willingness to play. Phoebe has never known fear (apart from the fear of mine or her dada's wrath). She's delighted to see any dog irrespective of size, shape, color, and smell, and wants to play with whoever it is. She approaches other dogs from below, showing that she intends to play and not harm. She's known to lie on the ground and sniff a pug's face. She looks downright silly--a 2.5-foot dog sucking up to a 0.5-foot one. Lately, however, Mojo has taken to approaching every other dog like a hunter. The moment he sees one in the distance, he slows his pace, changes his stance, and gets into his best crouching position, ready to be launched like a torpedo. I coolly watch him do all of this (it's mighty amusing!) and usually distract him at the right moment, enough to save my arm from being yanked off along with the leash.

I digress. Now to the main story.

I was walking ze canines last night, and we happened to cross another pair of familiar dogs--Max (playful and alert) and Bruno (shy, doesn't like himself or his partner touched). Mojo was ready for a go at any of them, and Phoebe was too, each with their own different intentions. I held Mojo back and loosened Phoebe's leash so that she could go ahead and play. Max was happy to sniff and let sniff. Bruno was cautious as always.

Hubby happened to cross us on his way home right then and as I got distracted for a second, Mojo slipped and went straight for Max. Max being the hunky Doberman, I was scared for Mojo initially, but within the few seconds that they were at each other, I began fearing for Max! My husband intervened and took Phoebe away while trying to hit Mojo so as to control him. In the next few seconds I somehow got hold of Mojo's mouth--he'd caught Max's ear firmly and wouldn't let go. I pried his jaws open, yelled at him, and pulled at his ear to control him.

While hubby held our goons, I apologized to the other pet owner and checked Max's ears for cuts. There were nothing except a bit of Mojo's saliva on his skin. Thankfully, his ears had been trimmed a few months ago (although I'm not in favor of that kind of vanity). I was so embarrassed, I wanted to disown Mojo right then. If Max had longer ears, Mojo would have yanked one off. I was pleasantly surprised and extremely angry at the same time.

Because they've been so protected, I always fear that Mojo wouldn't last a minute if he were out on the streets by himself. Phoebe would last for about 5 minutes at least, given how she protects herself against Mojo's attacks and advances. (Yep, we get to watch a lot of canine drama.) Street dogs are much more aggressive and vicious, which is necessary for their own survival. After this incident, I have a feeling that Mojo is much more vicious than he appears to be. He could, after all, learn to survive--with a lot of battle scars to show for it.

However, all of these thoughts came to me much later when we were all home and about to sleep. My first reaction was anger. Mojo has be been brought up playing with Phoebe and quite a few neighborhood dogs. None of them ever tried to attack Mojo. Where did he get that instinct from? Why does he take that offensive stance when he sees other dogs, especially males? I've noticed this change in him since he reached adulthood--his second heat earlier this year. It's a hormone-induced personality change, I think. He's even been jumping at Simba in offense. Simba is the dangerous-looking-but-the-sweetest-and-most-unharmful dog I've ever seen. My pooches have grown up with Simba--he's their favorite! And yet Mojo crouches when he sees Simba from afar. Although, he backs off in a couple of seconds once he realizes that Simba isn't attacking back. Then they both play a game of who marks the most number of shrubs or who marks the best. But I still hate it that Mojo isn't playful any more. He's going alpha.

It's not that Phoebe is an angel with other dogs. She barks back when another barks menacingly at her. But that's defense. She still tugs at the leash at the risk of cutting her throat, and rolls happily on the ground at the sight of another dog. She won't eat for days, but the moment she knows we have some free time, she plonks her toy at our feet and demands a game of fetch.

Mojo on the other hand uses attention-grabbing techniques like peeing on the floor without asking to be taken out--he used to do that earlier! He scratches walls, eats the paint off them, and begs for food even when he has just had his meal. I was so angry with him after the incident with Max, that I hit him all the way home. I didn't feed him and threatened to make him sleep alone his cage all night. I knew I'd cool down and bring him into the bedroom with us in the middle of the night, but right then I was ashamed of him for being mean to another dog. My softie husband melted and tempted me to relieve him from the cage sooner than I had planned.

I'm not proud of punishing him, but I doubt whether loving words or other actions would have stopped him from attacking the other dog. Given some time and space to play and know each other, I'm sure he'd even befriend Max, but I'm mighty pissed at the attack-for-no-reason. And now, I don't think Max's owner would trust me enough to attempt to get them to play.

I sometimes wonder whether Mojo feels like the less favorite one, and needs more love to prove otherwise. I hope I can find out and make him my gentle, sweet puppy again. Maybe the hormones will do that trick as he grows older and stabilizes. Fingers crossed.

Cleaning the sprouts

In response to Noor's tooth update.

Firstly, don't those finger brushes look sinisterly like something that would have prevented the kids from 'being'? Just sayin'. Actually I think of getting them too, for my wolf-descendants.

Wouldn't these scare you?

(Drags her dirty mind out of the gutter.)

I know precisely what they mean by shark-teeth. The smaller and newer the teeth, the sharper they are. Also, mostly they'd open their mouths eagerly to try and gobble up the biggest of objects--like basketballs, for example--but YOU attempt to put something suspicious in their mouths, and they'll... well, calm up. No better word.

I have to pry 'em jaws open!

I'm glad I don't have to brush my monsters' everyday. Once a few weeks is enough. Surprisingly there's no dog breath unless you decide to wedge your nose between their open jaws and take a deep one.

Or, sometimes, as they sleep in all kinds of weird positions, their lip-flaps (what else do you call them?) sag in the wrong direction, and their canines are accidentally bared.

One would think the bugger is so smugly a-sleepin'.

This one's for me

You seriously think you could do it? Ha ha ha! Next year, say less and do more.

As for 2009, let's catch a last glimpse from the window, and wave good-bye :)

CY 09 Q4 Analysis

Could this be any easier?! I could copy and paste this one as is. But I'm saving myself the trouble by staying consistent with my habit of laziness. All in all, I was a total failure in my eyes this year. Lost some more gray cells and gained even more cellulite. As they say in मराठी, खायला काळ, भुईला भार. "Useless" doesn't cut it. It's one of those idioms that loses its crux in translation.

The only things that saved our marriage and sanity made this year worthwhile were our two little angels...

Mojo

Phoebe (spelled Fibi for the fear of it being distorted beyond recognition at the local vet's)

Love you, my darlings... how I wish I could get you a home with a BIG yard to run amok!

Has it been so long

...that I need a cellphone reminder to tell me that it's our anniversary today? Well, I could blame it on the weekend full of chores and no time for ourselves that made us drop dead in the bed last night--no energy for even thinking about today.

I woke up this morning, let Fibi out, and snuggled in with you only to have Mojo jump around and sniff and settle on us, breathing heavily into our ears. So then I let Fibi join in and jump over us too. As I pulled myself out of the warm, comforting husband-and-dog-pile-on-the-mattress and headed for a bath, I noticed the phone blinking and wondered irritably what other task I was supposed to do today--only to be surprised by the anniversary reminder. After which I ran to you excitedly, passing on the reminder. Some hugs and kisses and rather childish lovey-dovey wishes later, we got back to chores. Which involved you feeding the dogs and me getting ready and playing with them until it was time to drag my sorry ass to work. All the while thinking about having one whole day at home, with you on the sofa, me lying in the bean bag, snuggling with the dogs, watching a silly sci-fi movie, and NOT DOING OR THINKING ABOUT DOING ANYTHING ELSE. Sigh!

We've spent all these years doing something or the other (work, watching movies, pigging out on food, long drives, household chores) and always postponing important things like attempting to have a healthier lifestyle and having more time off for 'ourselves'. Maybe it's time we start focussing on those things now. Otherwise we'll always be tired and whiny even after weekends. We'll have a happy anniv, hon, some day.

Till then, here's the pic of the year:
We're doing a good job of hiding those hideous tummies, but we still look a li'l horizontally stretched, don't we?

Chill, sweetheart, it's just a reminder of where we are and where we want to go back to, which is this...
I've merged the images, but the rest is all reality--only 3 years and a dozen kilos earlier. Just like our current reality is close to the Michelin Man.

Ok, stop throwing things at me. Focus, focus!!

My little baby

...just turned into a young lady. At 7.5 months. Gone are the carefree days of puppy-hood. Heck, it's time to use Carefree ...err if she was human!

I now understand what MM keeps yapping about. Sort of.

Baaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwllllll!!!!!!

(Runs away in angst.)

How can you drag yourself

...out of bed every morning, when you have one of these curling up beside you?

This one even tries to knock me off my pillow.

They're the bestest dogs in the night--they sleep on their own mattresses and never wake us unless the door is closed and they want to go pee. But, come morning and our bed beckons. They love to snuggle in with us and thereby toss away any plans we might have made to wake up early. And we want to wake up early to walk them. So they can pee and poop to their heart's content. Outside. But they've already done all of that in the balcony before snuggling in with us. You see the vicious circle here? Gah!

Escapism

A couple of years ago, we bought a beautiful house in a beautiful locality. However, like all things that get old, we're now bored of it. The structure is one of the things we plan to change. A couple of walls in the house are unnecessary and make the space look small. So we want to bring them down.

But there's a problem. The house cost us a bomb, and we don't have money to do much else. So what did we do? We hired really cheap labor, who would do the job for us. No architects, no engineers, no masons required. All these guys need is food and a place to poo and pee. They're awfully slow, but steadily doing their job. And we all know that slow and steady wins the race, right? Right.

So here's what they've accomplished in the past couple of weeks. That's 400 mms long and about 60 mms wide. Impressive, huh?!

They believe in doing a thorough job, peeling down layer after layer of their target. So, of course, the color and putty comes off first. It does look like we're renovating, doesn't it?

All that back breaking work tires the crap out of them. They don't even have a decent bed, so they sleep in whatever little space they can find.

Oh, and while they were at it, they realized that the mattresses were no good. They were too fluffy and gave them backaches. So off came all the stuffing. If you don't provide us laborers with good living conditions, we'll make things comfortable for ourselves, thankyouverymuch.

Sociophobia

This morning, I leave my cellphone for charging and then forget to carry it to work. A while later, the husband pings on GTalk, and asks me to try and remember where I left my phone--he thinks I'm clueless about the exact location of all my important stuff... it is true sometimes, but not always. So I call him to save time and the effort of typing. He doesn't realize his phone is ringing until I say so on chat. Then the bugger has excuses for low volume, yada, yada. [Snigger]

Then he offers to hand over my phone on his way to work, which is really a detour of about 1.5 kms. I tell him to ring up a colleague who lives nearby and pass it on with her instead. He totally avoids that situation by begging me to let him come and give me the phone. I try reasoning with him. The colleague not only takes the same route to the office and can pick the phone from home (hubs doesn't have to make any effort), but also sits in the adjacent cubicle and so meets me at least once a day (I don't have to make any effort)! That, however, is not good enough for him.

He just wants to hand it over himself so he can come and see me (do not judge, people, there is no romanticism here). The truth is, he always tries to avoid situations that involve interacting with people. I am not even remotely close to being a social butterfly, but I mostly do stuff that's necessary or if it helps (like in this situation). To conclude, driving extra in peak traffic conditions, burning fuel, waiting at the office gate, and risking being late for a meeting at work is all worth avoiding that painful 30-second call to an acquaintance. Now, if the acquaintance had a pet dog...

the phone would be promptly delivered to their residence, even if takes an extra couple of kilometers :P

PS: I too try to wriggle out of most social situations , but pointing fingers and making fun of the spouse is totally a "duty" in the marriage contract I wrote up in my head.

PPS: Dear hubs, if you read this before you leave home, please don't get mad. I love you. I still want my phone to see you before you go to work; I can't wait till you come back tonight.